Just Another Fighting Tournament?
by Alex Schira
Summary: A veteran of his age reflects upon an impossible tournament he is partaking in. An artistic look at cultures and the way they clash. Read and Review.


DISCLAIMER: I own no characters in this story or franchise.

Mindless violence. Endless rivalries. Implied romance. This is why this tournament of sorts gets so much coverage on the media. People want twenty six completely different symbols of good and evil finally settle their scores. Then be back next week to fight some one they also hate, but have nothing to do with. What do I know, I'm just a Smash Brother. Fox McCloud, at your service.

This little monologue faded from my head as the commercial for the Melee tournament gave way to the sitcom I'd been sitting through. Humans getting into trouble with other humans while a human audience laughs. I don't get it. I grabbed the remote and began flipping through channels again. They told Falco and I within a week we'd receive channels from the Lylat System.

The Company has really gone a long way to keep us comfortable. I mean, plucking several unsuspecting individuals from their respective dimensions, convince who ever they can to take part in a fighting program while living in a complex built just for this purpose. Well, adjusting to a new apartment wasn't the hard part.

I was one of the original Smashers. I had just gotten settled after that affair with Andross, Then out of nowhere I found myself dropped into some waiting room with a portal in the ceiling. I landed in a chair between a giant monkey and a human dressed in an exoskeleton. I only got weirder as some stiff in a suit called my name and explained I'd been ripped out of my dimension to give me a job offer. Well, General Pepper shorted us on the bill, I couldn't say no.

The Super Smash Brothers. That's what they called us. The minute I signed their contract they zapped me right back to Corneria to get my things, and tell everyone I had been transferred to a different planet. Simple job, eh? If I'd known the fact I'd be leaving behind my entire existence, I would have never signed that thing. When I came back to the dimension where this great technology resides, I came to know the real gimmick of this tournament.

We were all considered heroes back home. For instance there was Link, a mythical and prophecy fulfilling man who fought with a sword and a belt full of old fashioned gadgets. Sounds harmless, right? You ever take a boomerang to the crotch? And when he came back for the second series, they let him use even more of his tricks.

So, how exactly did the fighting work? We were beamed onto a floating platform over a huge portal for when we fell off. Knock the other opponent off the platform or through the outer barriers, and you win. And thanks to the miracle of damage grid technology, we became the test dummies for a new damage percentage system. And the blows were a bit…well, I often took a photon blast or a fireball to the face and it just felt mildly painful. Lethal techniques had become only damaging. And the blaster I once fought off gangs of killer robots with? It barely phases anyone in there. Go figure.

But you already know all that, right? You know the rules, conditions, our stats, everything. Every Smash fan does. As soon as this tragedy of a sitcom is over, I'm going to give you a glimpse inside what really goes on while we're not trying to kill each other. Wait, this show is over already. Time flies when you're contemplating your existence.

I yawned, getting up stiffly from the couch in my room and walking out my open doorway. Our rooms are arranged in a hotel-style set of hallways on the top floor of the central building. You walk down a well-decorated and carpeted hall of doors, and when you turn into one of the labeled rooms you can find yourself in a different world. The last tourney they just gave us hotel rooms. This time around they custom-built an environment for each of us, because you have to acknowledge the fact some of us have never seen electricity.

Once again I'll use Link as an example. When we all came back for the Melee tourney they gave him a spacious set of rooms that were made to match what you'd find in a Hyrule nobility household. Complete with candles for lights and primitive plumbing. Well, he's not a noble guy. I found out he was just a lazy kid who got roped into some big quest.

A day after he got here his little mansion suite was full of forest-themed furniture and little knick-knacks from his hollowed out tree back home. And within a week or so both representatives of the Company and his fellow Smashers began teaching him to use electric appliances. He was skeptical, saying it was all demonic. The next night he was making popcorn in the microwave and celebrating the modern bathroom they added to his room.

Then there were the weird ones. I have a pretty normal place, some unique decorations but no pocket dimensions. But they made a freakin' hot tub shaped like an egg and a sauna for Yoshi. He said in body language that his species relied on these things for survival, so the Company should pay for it. We've taught the green one well.

I haven't been in a good deal of the twenty something rooms they built. Mostly because some of them are occupied by female beings, and I myself hide under furniture whenever a girl walks by. I'm a pilot, not a player. Falco on the other hand…well, thankfully his feathers grow back.

I walked down the row of environments and toward the elevators. Extra large to accommodate its users. I hummed as I went down to the first floor, when the door opened into a cafeteria. Currently empty, but the dozen of specially stocked vending machines looked like they'd been through rush hour. Wow, five already? I frowned at my digital watch as I kept walking toward a hallway, and then through a wood-paneled hall plastered with promo posters of the Smash Brothers. As I passed a mural of a giant disembodied hand that looked like a glove, I heard a faint cluster of sounds from the West.

There was a distinct chatter of inhuman sounds and a few muted voices. I smirked, knowing where they were coming from as I headed right for the room they were emitting from. I rounded a few turns and found myself in a very large, dome-shaped room that was directly at the end of the hallway. Inside the curved walls were lined with arcade games rigged to work without change, simulators for classic sports, old fashioned pinball machines for atmosphere. In the center were rows of table games and other game room essentials. Each table was occupied by a currently relaxing peak condition fighter.

I chuckled as I saw two yellow rodents sitting on either end of a ping pong table, and with the paddles in their mouths they ran back and forth playing a miniature game of tennis. One row over a helmet-clad race car driver from the future threw the dice at the craps/roulette table. His colorful language was drowned out by a large, currently dancing and whooping gorilla who had just won a game of Life at a wooden board game table. Behind him, a set of Inuit (Eskimo is an offensive label) twins played air hockey on two stools due to their size. And beyond all that, several shady figures congregated along three gorgeous pool tables. Alright, my kind of game.

I sidled up next to the blue falcon in the jacket who was rubbing his feathers over the talc cone, I grabbed a stick off the rack.

"What we playing?"

He grumbled through his beak.

"The bounty hunter is trying to con one of the plumbers out of their mortgage."

I snickered, looking over at the end table to see a bright orange cybernetic life form standing dead still next to the table as a Mario Brother, not sure which one, lined up his shot. I walked over, stick across my shoulder blades. The orange robot just stood there with a stick in hand. I walked over and knocked on the head with the end of my stick.

"Sam? You alive in there?"

No answer. I leaned close to the green faceplate, trying to see beyond the tint. Right as I went to take off the helme I felt a firm tap on my back. I turned my head to see a rather tall blonde woman towering over my form, smirking.

"I left my suit up as a decoy, the guys have been hitting on it for an hour."

I nodded, grunting in realization as Samus leaned forward and rested her arms on my head, leaning on me like a fence. Funny. Back home in the Lylat I was one of the taller pilots. Over here I was a dwarf. I glared at her midriff as I stepped back and out from under her.

"My elevator shoes are coming in the mail tomorrow, stay off the basketball court."

She laughed, a sadistic crow, and patted me on the head as she walked off. I grumbled about humans as I walked up to an empty table and chalked up my cue, taking the triangle off the table and getting ready to break the rack. I broke, and a stripe went in a side pocket.

"Nice Break!"

Came a voice from behind me. Followed by a beeping sound. Then another. And another. I saw a two dimensional black figure walk (Or eh…move) around the table, beeping as he went. Game and Watch is fighting here to represent…eh…whatever race he is. I'd say black, but I've heard that's an offensive term. And I'm pretty sure he's not African.

"GW, long time no se. We thought you fell through a crack in the floor."

Beep-beep-beep, he was standing on the other side of the table.

"It was an air vent. I'm bulked up a bit, been hitting the weights."

He flexed his bicep. A tiny bump sank down to the bottom of his arm like an old cartoon, with corresponding sound effects.

"…wow…don't bulk up too much, DK may get jealous."

He laughed…or...eh…beeped, and beeped off to another table. I shook my head, still not used to that guy. I knocked another stripe into the corner pocket and re-chalked. After clearing the table I noticed everyone seemed to be leaving the game room. Or the 'arcade' as a few of us called it.

Well, I'm the shy type but the prospect of being alone in some huge room playing pool against myself sounds a bit creepy. So I racked my stick and followed the small crowd out the hall into the cafeteria. Now, the concept of a high-school style cafeteria in a complex full of peak-conditioned athletes with bizarre food tastes and eating patterns is a bit old fashioned. When this place was built they figured we'd just file in three times a day and order our meals, and sit at popular and nerd tables.

We tried that the first day. By breakfast the next morning we were all eating in our rooms, using our own kitchens and doing our own shopping. Now, they pay us enough for each fight that we'd have enough for food. But our hosts still insist on spending as much money as possible. So every few days we fill out shopping lists, hand them into a box and we'd have the stuff delivered to our rooms so we can cook for ourselves. What about the good portion of Smashers who can't cook? Well, there's a gourmet staff in the cafeteria who are paid to hand around at all hours of the day watching TV and using our gym until somebody orders a burger and fries.

But once in a while you'd see a few people sitting at a table eating together. And this room was also used for announcements and meetings. As I shuffled behind the Ice Climbers through the deserted tables and vending machines toward the elevators, I felt some one tap me on the shoulder a few times. I turned my head to see an Italian stereotype in a white lab coat with a mirror strapped to his head.

"What's up, Doc?"

For some reason he laughed in his usual way. I raised an eyebrow.

"…what's so funny?"

He calmed down and in his Italian lilt told me.

"It-sa nothing…nothing at all…"

And he walked ahead of me towards an open elevator. I swear before the door closed he laughed again. Why does he do that every time I call him Doc? And why do people make little rabbit ears behind my head when I say that? I sighed, shaking it off with a shrug of my head as I squeezed into an elevator with a dark-skinned war lord and a young adult with a shield and sword strapped to his back. Both stood there silently, not acknowledging the other.

It's funny. These two are mortal enemies back in their time. Ganon here has been killed by Link a few times. It's all about taking over some Hyrule place. Well, when they first found out the other was here they nearly went into a fight right there. But for some reason they both walked up to the other like gentlemen, told the other they would kill them back in Hyrule, and went on their way. They would never speak to each other or even look at each other. But when these two fought sparks went flying.

I walked out with them on the top floor, each symbol of good or evil walking down a separate hallway. I know Ganon and Link personally, both have some good qualities. Ganon isn't a psychopath like some 'villains'. He's more reserved, preferring asking who ever possible to play chess with him in his chambers rather than kill the innocent. In fact he's taught most of the younger fighters how to play the game, letting them win sometimes. But still, back in Hyrule where the war is, he's the monarch of the dark times. But over here, he's just that guy everyone teases about his nose.

I walk on back to my room through the open door and spend an hour or so working on buffing out a nick in my headgear. When I resurface to the hallway, looking in mirrors to see if the scratch is still visible I noticed a lot of noise coming from down the hall. I looked both ways, making sure nobody would get hit, and tapping my wrist. I felt myself launched forward through the air and a millisecond later I'd gone fifty feet down without having to walk. Don't ask, the Company gave me this thing to appeal to the gadget sponsors. It's nice but that shield they gave me in the first tournament is just amazing.

I walked through the doorway of another room and was greeted by the sight of two princesses singing karaoke while a few fighters with nothing to do sat around and pretended to love their off-note performance. I shook my head, turning and walking right back out. Everyone worshipped the royal people here. They figure if you suck up to a prince or princess you can get perks. Like being knighted, honored in their biography, or receiving a giant Hummer full of gold and royal chamber maids.

The two princesses, I'm not sure which one is which, both come off as snobs. The one with the ears just stays to her own kind, while Toadstool (…who would be proud of that as a last name?) goes around treating us like royal subject. At first we all hated it, now we just barely tolerate it. Last week she gave every one of us a gift to share her wealth from back home. I got a dog collar with 'Fox' written on the band. I do my taxes every February, two months before April 16th. Can canines in this dimension do that?

Some of the royal people we've read about in the news, and were shocked to meet them when we reported for duty. Prince Marth, and General Roy both learned some English, gathered their remaining wealth to travel, and came to the Smash Complex to raise money for their homelands. Both are good guys, their English is a bit lacking though. They can function well on a day-to-day basis, but in the actual battles they keep yelling in Japanese. I've learned a few foreign curses that way.

Speaking of guys with swords, I have one more snippet on Link. He's considered two different fighters. This time around he brought some new objects with him to the tourney, including a small pedestal with a slot in the top. I'm not sure how it works, but he can switch between his adult form and his childhood body freely with that thing. Actually, once I saw both Links in the same battle. He later explained it was Zelda using Hylian magic powered by the…oh hell, I still don't understand how this dimension thing works.

As I walked over to Falco's room I pondered why he had came. They said to bring combat-capable friends or even enemies around. Mario and Bowser are such casual enemies he formally invited the Koopa King to compete. And Mario himself has an altered-dimension form here with us, a doctor at that.

Falco had his door locked. He probably dragged Samus's suit up here and is playing Barry White music in there. It's true, he really thinks she stays in there all the time. It's the perfect pervert decoy.

I sighed, another night with no sane person to talk to. I wandered the halls twirling my de-activated blaster around on my thumb, patrolling the halls out of boredom. Each door I passed had a different look to it than the last. Each room behind it held something I'd find unusual. Or some one. I approached a corner, planning to walk the perimeter of the building. I slowed down slightly as Samus, clad in normal clothing, turned he corner on her heel and power-walked down he hall toward me. Always a fitness freak.

"Evenin' McCloud. Still guarding the halls?"

She flashed an ivory-toothed smirk. I shrugged, letting my thumb tilt upwards, sending my blaster spinning up into the air, I caught it with he thumb of my other hand and continued twirling. Samus stopped jogging to watch this trick, before shaking her head and continuing her walk, parting our ways.

"You're a weird little guy, Fox."

I stopped dead, blaster hanging limp in my paw as I heard that. Well, maybe I belong here after all.

Author's Note

Continued in the next chapter. This is just a light-hearted tribute to my favorite game as a kid. If you hate it, I don't blame you. If you like it, say so in a signed or unsigned review. Thank you for reading.


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